


Ficlet Collection (Joseph/Deputy)

by Andian



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet Collection, M/M, See Chapters For Additional Tags/Warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andian/pseuds/Andian
Summary: A collection of short one-shots (less than 1,000 words) for Joseph Seed/Male Deputy.
Relationships: Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed, Male Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	1. A Matter Of Fire And Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings apply. Set during the bunker-ending.

They gravitate towards each other over time.   
  
It’s inevitable, Rook supposes. Their world has become so small, confined to the walls of the bunker and the two of them within the only human beings left alive. And though he might have doubted the humanity of Joseph Speed before, he does not doubt anymore.   
  
Joseph is manic still in his determination, religious zealousness ignited only further by the burning death of this world. He prays, alone, for Rook, with Rook on the few occasion Rook does not have it inside himself to fight Joseph on it.

Mostly though he preaches, like he does today. Speaks of the world outside the bunker, the world God has created, is creating, for just the two of them.   
  
Has he preached of the end before, he is now talking of the things to come after it. It’s somehow worse and better and despite all of it, Rooks finds himself listening. Not to the words but to him rather.   
  
There is conviction and persuasion and Joseph has never lacked those, this much Rook has always known of him. He can see how they followed him. Why they followed him.   
  
But the masses of followers he had preached to before, his trusted inner circle made up of his siblings, they are gone now. Rook had killed them and then the world had killed the rest of them or maybe Joseph had done so, had willed the bombs into existence with the sheer power of his unshaken belief.

Maybe Rook had brought him to this point, he thinks as he listens to Joseph. Had ignited the spark that had always been deep inside of Joseph Seed and the world around them had paid for it. But then Rook doesn’t believe in faith and won’t start now, not in the burnt remains of the world down in the bunker. Won’t start believing, no matter how much Joseph prays or preaches. Though it is becoming difficult to not give in to other things.   
  
The thing is, with nobody else left, Joseph preaches to him. Only him.   
  
And Rook is not prepared to deal with the intensity of those eyes, fixed on nothing but him.

There is fire burning inside of Joseph, running through his veins and flowing from his mouth and if Rook listens too closely, watches him for too long, Joseph will set him on fire too.   
  
But, he think as Joseph’s voices trails off into the soft whispers of a closing prayer, with so much fire in his world, how could he not burn too at one point?  
  
Joseph raises his hands to the sky above them that does not longer exist, as he finishes his prayers to a God that might never had existed either.

Then he looks down, looks at Rook and Rook cannot turn away from him, even if he’d have wanted to.   
  
“My child,” Joseph says softly and there is reverence and affection in his voice even as his eyes watch Rook in ways that no parent should ever look at their child.

“Father,” Rook says and if there is a point to holding out, to trying to keep away from his fire, Rook can’t be bothered to think about it anymore.   
  
Maye, he thinks as he stands up and reaches for Joseph, all things must burn at one point.


	2. Now He's Our Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook falling for the dark side (and Joseph).

Rook wanted to believe that Joseph had broken him. He had come to him first after all, in the Bliss with soft smiles and warm hands.

And if Rook had started suspecting even during the first time that it hadn’t just been hallucinations, thoughts and fantasies given form in the abysses of his mind and the Bliss, it had not really mattered as long as he could pretend.

Pretense was harder to come by though outside of the Bliss. Joseph’s fingers were equally soft and equally sure and Rook ached into them all the same in beds in abandoned farmhouses as he had done at the river.

“Careful,” Joseph mumbled and Rook wanted to tell him that he wasn’t looking for softness but all that came out was another moan as fingers twisted inside of him.  
  
It would be easier, Rook had thought afterwards, if Joseph was rough.  
  
If he could put this down as just hateful and adrenaline-fueled fucking and nothing more. But Joseph looked at him in ways nobody ever had and Rook couldn’t for his life, or for the lives of everybody in Hope County, ignore the intensity in his eyes.  
  
He tried though, tried to stay away, from Joseph and his hands and eyes. Burnt down so much of Hope County, Joseph’s vision might come true after all.  
  
Lost himself in the feeling of his gun and righteous anger at the atrocities the Seeds were committing. Joseph was committing. Tried so hard to forget his eyes.  
  
“I missed you.” Failed to do so.  
  
That night Joseph preached to him for the first time afterwards, Rook held tightly in his arms. Rook wanted to say he didn’t listen but the fire in Joseph’s eyes spilled into his words and Rook could not help burning.  
  
He stopped avoiding Joseph after that. He was still fighting, still trying to free Hope County and if he had started listening to Joseph, what did it really matter. Payment for Joseph’s hands and eyes, nothing more.  
  
It did not matter that Joseph spoke of fire, of the end and if Rook closed his eyes he could taste the ash of a burning world on this tongue. How the taste turned sweet when Joseph whispered to him about Eden while kissing him softly.  
  
During the day he looked at his allies and thought of Joseph’s words. Could he save them, should the fire actually come, he wondered. And if Rook couldn’t, could Joseph at least.  
  
But still, Rook believed it did not matter.  
  
Not until one night, weeks later when Rook slipped out of the bed, away from Joseph and his warmth, his words and hands, and it had started hurting to leave some time ago.  
  
Joseph reached for him and Rook stilled. “Stay,” Joseph asked softly. “Please.”  
  
It could have been a choice, had been one at the beginning. But not anymore, Rook realized.

Outside was the world which might soon be fire and Rook did not even know if he believed but in the end, did it matter.  
  
Did anything matter but Joseph and the way he had broken him touch by touch and word by word.

And the way Rook had willingly allowed himself to be broken by him.  
  
So he let himself be pulled down back into to the bed against Joseph and wondered if truly in the end anything mattered but Joseph’s eyes.  
  



	3. Bridal Chorus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happiest day in Rook's life... (Chapter contains the other Seed siblings and forced marriages. No non-con or anything sexual though.)

Rook stared on straight ahead, fists clenched so tight they were hurting with shoulders tensed. Next to him Joseph was standing equally still though probably for different reasons.

Praying silently maybe or listening to John’s ramblings. Rook wished his hands weren’t bound so he could strangle him and stop John’s inane chatter. But he had unsuccessfully tried to punch Jacob before the ceremony and the ropes had been deemed necessary. The flicker of disapproval in Joseph’s eyes when Faith and Jacob had marched him down to the altar of his church with his hand tightly bound had brought grim satisfaction to Rook.

He desperately tried to cling to this feeling because it was better than the helpless rage he was feeling with every passing second of this charade. When Joseph had told him this morning that he had decided that they should marry, Rook had laughed in his face.

Getting married? To Joseph? It should have been a cruel joke, nothing more. But Joseph had just looked at him, serenity in his expression like always.

“It is meant to be,” he had said and then had softly touched Rook’s forehead, who had been too startled to react.

“God has willed it so,” he had added before leaving him behind with Jacob who had looked skeptical but had still gotten to his job of guarding Rook until John had been ready with the ceremony.

It had given Rook enough time to realize that this was Joseph’s way of trying to break him. Drugs and knives and music boxes weren’t quite his style. He wasn’t looking to rid Rook of his weakness or his sin like that.

He wanted to Rook to join him. Had so since the beginning, had reached out for him so many times and Rook had rejected him every time.

Now, with John rattling off his little speech, Rook realized that Joseph must have given up on having him come on his own free will. Punishment, he thought grimly. What other reason would Joseph have for marrying him but to punish him for having refused him so many times before?

“Yes,” Joseph then said and Rook flinched because he hadn’t realized that John had gotten this far.

John turned towards him, said something and Rook didn’t listen, didn’t want to listen. A small part of him wondered if John was even ordained and then he wanted to laugh because it didn’t matter. Not in Hope County, not here next to Joseph who was staring at him expectantly.

Rook said nothing after John had finished talking because what could he say. He had said so much since he had arrived in Hope County and it had changed nothing. He had still ended up here, in this empty church next to a crazy man who wanted to marry him. Madness, it seemed, could not be escaped by such simple things as words and wasn’t Joseph the best example for this?

John opened his mouth at his silence, clearly angry and behind him he could feel Jacob and Faith stepping closer.

But Joseph raised his hands and his siblings stopped. He turned towards Rook, still a serene smile on his face.

“It is okay,” he said softly, his voice still somehow seeming to echo in the church.

“You will come to it soon enough.”

His hand came up again, softly stroking over Rook’s cheek and Rook desperately wanted to look away because he hated what he saw in Joseph’s eyes. He could have dealt with cruelty or with madness but Joseph’s eyes were honest and filled with such conviction.

Belief, Rook realized. He was honestly believing he was doing the right thing.

Joseph leant closer to him, putting their foreheads together.

“You’ll come to it,” he mumbled. “You’ll come to me.”

And for a brief moment Rook feared that between the two of them, Joseph might had enough belief for it to come true.


	4. Touch Your Mouth And Hold Your Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook will never be Joseph's choosen one. Chapter contains rough sex though nothing truly explicit.

Joseph was above him, pinning him down with his weight, mouth leaving angry bite marks against his neck.

Rook snarled, at the pain or the feeling of Joseph inside of him, he couldn’t really tell. His hands came up, pulling Joseph closer and racking across his back in the process.

Hopefully he left scratches, he thought wildly. Angry red lines that would force Joseph to wear a shirt the coming days, least his siblings or congregations started wondering what exactly their righteous father got up to in his free time.

Joseph’s trusts grew harder, more brutal at this and Rook welcomed it. Ached into it, almost breaking Joseph’s grip on his wrists, and earning himself another bite as an answer.

Between the bites, Joseph was whispering into the bitten skin of his neck, prayers or sermons, maybe both. Rook didn’t care either way.

He didn’t listen to Joseph during normal times and he wasn’t about to when the man was fucking him on a church bench.

He couldn’t really get a grip on Joseph’s back, slick with sweat now, again though, no way to keep scratching him as a warning to shut up and just keep fucking him. So his hands wandered higher, burrowing themselves in Joseph’s hair, testing for a moment before tugging hard.

His hair came undone and Joseph stilled. He stared down at Rook, dark hair framing his face, the deep blue of his eyes for once visible without his glasses on.

Part of Rook, the part that kept him coming back after every ill-advised violent fuck, the part that had noticed just how blue Joseph’s eyes were in the first place, the part that made him stare back up at Joseph now, twisted painfully.

The grip Joseph had on his wrist loosened and suddenly Joseph was leaning down to him as if to kiss him.

And he couldn’t do that. They couldn’t do that.

Joseph fucked him or he fucked Joseph, they left bruises and scratches and the aftershocks of anger and hate on each other. They didn’t kiss.

No matter how much some part of Rook wanted to lean up, wanted to meet Joseph halfway. Rook’s hand, still clasped in Joseph’s hair had lost some of its grip but now he forced himself to tighten it again.

To tug, hard and violently. Pull Joseph away from him, pull until Joseph let out a hiss of pain and relented.

Until Joseph stopped looking at him like that and returned to angrily trusting into him. He kept his hand in Joseph’s hair, tugging every time the fucking seemed to become less brutal, less rough, a reminder to Joseph of why they were here in the first place. A reminder to himself.

And if this was a victory, Rook though, it felt like a hollow one.


	5. Sweet Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's betrayal, it's sin but Joseph cannot resist. (No additional warnings/tags for this one, this is just bittersweet sad stuff...)

It is betrayal. To his flock, his siblings, everybody he is supposed to save. Worse, betrayal to God and the mission he was given.  
  
It’s sin too but he is human yet and his failures have been etched onto both his skin and soul, too deep Joseph sometimes fear, to ever be fully atoned for.  
  
Scars that Rook traces with his fingers as they lie together afterwards. He never asks about them. Joseph doesn’t think he needs to though he would gladly tell him why.  
  
Sometimes Rook allows him to preach when they are like this, to whisper prayers against hot skin slowly cooling and into ears, unwilling to listen to him at others times. He should convince Rook to join them in those moments, he knows.  
  
“Walk with us,” he wants to mumble. “To Eden’s Gate, into the Garden.” Fingers intertwined he wants to scream at him, that he can’t do it alone.  
  
That he wants Rook, next to him and on his side as they fulfill their destiny. That he needs him and these stolen moments of hands and lips, of only his touch and his eyes.  
  
But he doesn’t. Can’t bring himself to, not when he knows it would make Rook’s eyes turn distant.  
  
Traitor, the Voice whispers in his head. Are you not the one to save him? Would you damn the both of you for this?  
  
He flinches and for a moment he moves away. Away from Rook and the place they have made together. But Rook pulls him back, back into the bed and against him.  
  
"A bit longer,” he mumbles and he never asks Joseph to stay. He is glad for it.  
  
Because he would hesitate for a moment and he has already betrayed so much. Rook’s hands stroke over his back, calming and sure.  
  
“Stop thinking so much,” he says. Sometimes Joseph wonders if he can read his mind, sees the storm of obligations and commitments fighting with wants and needs inside of him. Or if he pulls it out of his body, the way he does his moans and gasps.  
  
“In Eden,” he begins because he needs to try at least, doesn’t he. Try to make Rook see his light, to make him believe.  
  
But Rook just laughs, soft exhale of air against Joseph’s neck.  
  
“No talk of the garden,” he mumbles. “Not right now. Please?”  
  
And his words are sin as are his hands, slowly stroking his back. Yet Joseph feels himself sink against him, their bodies a perfect fit.  
  
And it’s betrayal of everything Joseph believes that he’d be willing to trade in his future in Eden if it meant staying with him like this forever.


	6. Play The Guitar, Play It Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody on Tumblr found out that Joseph wrote some of the cult songs, so here is something based on that. No extra tags or warnings for this one.

There is a guitar in the bunker, dusty and old. Rook doesn’t even notice it the first few months, too occupied with the bizarre purgatory his life had become. But humans it seems can get used to a lot and once they get used to being stuck at the end of the world with a crazy cult leader, they get bored.

“I have writings to do today,” Joseph says, sounding dignified and serene as always. Rook squints at him and puts the pack of cards back down on the table.

“You just don’t want to lose again,” he accuses. The Father’s serenity, it turns out, does not quite extend to him having a decent poker face. Rook does not like to consider the other possibility, that over the months of him seeing nobody but Joseph, he had started to learn how to read even the smallest of Joseph’s facial expressions.

Joseph just ignores him, his usual way of avoiding conflict nowadays. He has stopped preaching to Rook at even the smallest transgressions committed a few months in and at this point Rook feels too tired most days to keep the flame of hate inside him burning, that had caused him to bite back in the beginning.

Staring at Joseph, bowed over a piece of paper, a look of concentration on his face, Rook considers his options. There are some books in the bunker, but he is trying to saving them and is getting sick of rereading. He could exercise but there are only so many pushups and jack-knives a man can be expected to do before turning as insane as Joseph. As much as it pains him to admit, out of all the limited options for entertainment in the bunker, Joseph has always been the most tempting one.

For a moment he considers telling Joseph this. Sometimes if he’s lucky, catches Joseph off-guard, makes the insinuations of them being the only two humans left, Adam and Eve with no garden, as crude and crass as possible, he can get him to flush. Anger or embarrassment and Rook can work with both. But sometimes Joseph also just looks at him, too long, too intense, until Rook has to break the eye contact because in the bunker it’s sometimes hard to remember why he can’t just have the things he wants.

It just proves that he needs some more distractions in his life, he decides. It’s during this pondering that Rook remembers the guitar. Joseph eyes follow him as he walks out of the room, though he still pretends to be fully engulfed by his writings. He looks up though and outright stares when Rook returns with the guitar.

Rook ignores him, sits down at the small table again and starts randomly pulling on some strings. He never learnt how to play any type of instrument. No money as a child, no patience as a teenager, no time as an adult.

His upbringing hadn’t leant itself to the finer things in life. He has time enough to learn now, he thinks somewhat bitterly as he pulls on the guitar strings again, creating a pitiful noise. It’s not good but it’s something to do and for the next few minutes Rook is absorbed in seeing just what type of awful tones he can coax out of the instrument.

He doesn’t notice Joseph standing next to him until a hand comes up to rest on his, stopping his attempts at playing.

“This is awful,” Joseph says, and he actually looks like he is suffering. Rook lets out a slightly startled laugh. “What, no word of encouragement?” he asks, half mocks. “You keep telling me to try and create something beautiful instead of just destroying, don’t you?”

“There is nothing beautiful about what you are doing to the guitar.” Rook is inclined to give him this one but he has made a point of never outright agreeing with anything Joseph is saying or doing. So instead he pushes the guitar towards Joseph.

“Do it better then,” he says, a challenge he doesn’t really expect Joseph to meet. But to his surprise Joseph takes the guitar from him, adjusts his grip and then starts playing. And not playing in the way Rook had done but rather actually creating music. A song, longing and melancholic and Rook listens, too surprised and enthralled by the soft melody playing to say anything.

“You can play.” He isn’t sure what else to say once Joseph finishes playing.

“I wrote some of the songs for Eden’s Gate,” Joseph says. Rook blinks in surprise. “The propaganda songs? Those were yours?”

“It’s not propaganda. It was an attempt to bring people to the truth,” Joseph says, sounding maybe a bit defensive. Something twists in his face as he looks at the guitar again and Rook doesn’t need to ask to know that he is thinking of his family again. He wonders if he had written those songs for his siblings. John and Jacob and later Faith. And now nobody but the person who had killed them left to hear them.

Joseph’s fingers slowly stroke over the strings and Rook hopes he won’t start playing any of them. He doubts he’d be able to keep himself from punching Joseph if he did. He has taken Joseph’s family but Joseph too has taken so much from him he could never get back.

But Joseph starts playing again, a new song, one Rook doesn’t know, less melancholic this time, fingers skillfully dancing over the guitar strings. Rook finds himself nodding along after a bit as he watches him play and almost stops, a feeling of guilt creeping into him.

But there are worse things he has done when it comes to Joseph, certainly worse things he has thought of doing to Joseph, doing with Joseph, than enjoying him playing the guitar. And so for a moment he allows himself to relax and just enjoy the song Joseph is playing for him.


	7. You Deserve No Tenderness But Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is fluff or at least as close to fluff as those two can get.

The months pass and he almost gets used to being stuck in a bunker with a mad man. They make rules, who checks on the water filter, who heats up their daily ration of beans, and it’s a pretense of normality but Rook longs for even those small scraps.

Naturally though you cannot escape madness this easily, not with Joseph Seed around.

“Joseph,” Rook is trying to be patient and understanding, he really is. “It’s been two days. Please, at least eat something.”

Joseph doesn’t look up from the pieces of papers scattered on the table in front of him.

“I’m writing,” he mumbles, same answer as yesterday and the day before.

At least he had drunk some of the water Rook hat pointedly put down in front of him.

To survive the end of the world only to die of thirst seemed a cruel trick of God to play, Rook had thought. With the way things are going, Rook wouldn’t put it past God to do exactly this though.

He lets out a sigh and then steps forward, hand coming down to rest on Joseph’s, clutching a pen.

“You can’t even read what you are writing anymore,” he says, nodding to the scrawls on the paper.

He can feel Joseph’s hand shaking underneath his own and every word the man had written in the last few days is almost intelligible.

Not that there was actually more sense to be found in his ramblings when he could actually read them, Rook thinks.

“Eat something. Sleep for a bit.” Softly he pulls Joseph’s hand away from the paper and Joseph just lets it happen.

Too weak to fight him on this for once, Rook thinks, not believing for a moment that Joseph might actually see reason.

“My writings,” Joseph still protests though it’s weak.

“Will still be here tomorrow,” Rook counters. Where would they go? Rook had thought of burning them once but he had gotten so sick of fire in those last few months.

His hand lets go of Joseph’s, is put on his head instead, slowly stroking through his hair. It’s a soft touch, comfort where none had been earned, and Rook doesn’t like thinking about why he is still doing it.

A soft sigh, more an exhale of breath than actual sound, and Joseph lets his eyes fall close, leaning back against his chest.

He looks peaceful like this, Rook thinks. For somebody who still preaches with such fever to Rook of the paradise awaiting them once the bunker doors will open, there is so little peace in Joseph. Not that Rook has any to offer himself.

Joseph’s hair is tangled, his usual neat bun messy and as Rook carts through his hair, it comes undone, hair falling into his face. Joseph doesn’t open his eyes and Rook doesn’t stop touching him.

He half thinks of trying to fix Joseph’s hair. He is weirdly vain about it, in a way he’d protest if ever actually confronted with it like he denies so many of his mortal weaknesses he considers sin, fixing it up one of the first things he does every morning.

Rook doubts he’d get it as neat as Joseph likes it, not with the way Joseph’s head is resting against his chest.

Without really thinking about it, his other hand comes up, idly picking a few of the strains apart and flipping them around. It takes him a moment to realize that he is making a braid.

A soft startled laugh escapes him, and Joseph must have heard it, cause his eyes crack open, throwing Rook a sleepy but curious look.

“It’s okay,” Rook mumbles, stopping his braiding and petting Joseph’s head again. “Just … just let me.”

He isn’t even sure what he is asking for but Joseph just nods and closes his eyes again and Rook gets back to braiding his hair.

He is not any good at it. He can’t remember ever braiding before and even if he had, Joseph’s hair is too unkempt and tangled, his head in the wrong position for the braids to actually turn out any decent.

But he looks calm as Rook braids his hair, letting out a soft hum as Rook separates the braids and it’s been two days since Rook had managed to persuade him away from his writings and into bed so Rook will take those few moments of rest.

He tries not to think about what it means that he actually wants Joseph to rest. Joseph and his madness can be found in the tangled mess of words on the endless pages of writing he produces, beneath the fiery conviction of his sermons.

Rook’s madness or at least the beginning of it, he sometimes thinks, lies in moments like this. But he pushes the thought away for now, concentrating on nothing but braiding Joseph’s hair, the only sound their shared soft breathing in the small room.

It’s peace and it is something neither of them really could pass on anymore.


	8. All There Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No extra tags/warnings for this one. Just more bunker time and Rook slowly falling for/succumbing to Joseph.

It’s cold in the bunker and Joseph is warm. That’s all, Rook tells himself. That’s all.

He clings to the thought during the day, as if enough repetition will make it feel true. It’s cold, he thinks. So cold. They need to save electricity, extra heating a luxury they cannot afforded, even as the thin blankets grant little protection from a Montana winter.

And Joseph, he is warm. The first time Rook climbs into bed with him, he is shaking violently from the cold. Joseph shifts the blanket over to him, immediately and without hesitation, and Rook hates him a little bit more for it. Allows it still because he can’t get his body to stop shaking.

“You should have come earlier,” Joseph mumbles, chides softly, and Rook grits his teeth. Against their clattering or Joseph’s word or maybe both. Joseph’s hand reaches out for him, touches his shoulder. Squeezes in a gesture of comfort and Rook recoils.

“Don’t touch me”, he hisses because it’s one thing to climb into bed with him, to be lying next to him here. It’s another thing to touch him.

“It’s cold,” he says, an explanation, an excuse for why he is here in the first place. Joseph nods.

“It’s cold,” he agrees and his dark blue eyes seem to pierce Rook. He closes his eyes quickly, unwilling to lose even more of himself in them. Sleep, he thinks. Just sleep. And then forget in the morning.

He doesn’t forget in the morning. Neither it seems, has Joseph, judging by the thoughtful glances directed at him. Rook ignores them, like he does with so many things when it comes to Joseph. Ignorance isn’t bliss but denial at least promises some frail remains of sanity.

But denial can only last for so long. A few days later it gets even colder and there are limits to the layers of ill-fitting clothes a person can wear. When time comes for them to go to sleep, Joseph hesitates, fumbles around with his bedding.

“Do you want my blanket?” Joseph asks and Rook can’t help the incredulous laugh escaping his mouth.

“So you can freeze over night?” he asks, because that’s what will happen if Joseph actually gives him his blanket. What’s worse, Rook wonders, being trapped with a dead or living Joseph Seed?

“You are cold,” Joseph states, eyes once more fixed on Rook. “And you won’t come to me,” he adds and Rook feels the laughter die in his throat.

“I don’t want to,” he says, because that’s the truth. It’s warm under the blanket with Joseph next to him but still, he doesn’t want this. Can’t want this.

“It’s cold,” is Joseph’s answer and Rook looks away, from him and his eyes. He doesn’t slip into Joseph’s bed this night. He has his pride and falling that, he has his wrath and the memory of his friends’ faces.

But it only gets colder and after a few more nights of being unable to fall asleep, body shaking too much no matter how he curls up on himself, he caves.

Joseph says nothing this time, only silently lifts his blanket as Rook slips underneath it. They lie there wordlessly, not touching each other, and Rook tries not to think about his friends. Tries not to think about how close Joseph is. How easy it would be to reach out. To touch.

In the morning he can feel Joseph’s eyes following him as he quietly slips out of their shared bed. He avoids looking at the other man that day.

That night when Joseph goes to bed, he just silently looks at Rook and Rook, he is tired, so goddamn tired.

And it’s cold.

Slowly he walks over to the bed, to Joseph. It’s cold in the bunker, he thinks. He slips into the bed, lies down next to Joseph, who pulls the blanket higher.

And Joseph, he is warm. A hand then slowly reaching out, touching his arm.

It’s cold in the bunker and Joseph is warm, he repeats to himself. The hand softly strokes down his arm, comfort in the cold.

That’s all, Rook think as he stays still and allows Joseph to touch him, accepting the comfort, the touch, accepting Joseph.

That’s all.


	9. Coffee Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Semi-sweet fluff set in the bunker. Title is also a lie, there is no actual coffee involved...

There is not enough coffee in the bunker. It’s the goddamn apocalypse and somehow Dutch hasn’t stocked up on enough coffee. If Rook gets a do-over, he’d come to Joseph’s compound armed with several packages of whatever cheap instant coffee he can find in Hope County. Screw saving his friends or the world from the impending nuclear destruction, he’d sell them all for a cup of hot coffee right about now.

He might be getting desperate. He might also exaggerate a tiny bit. 

“Are you okay?”

But who can blame him really, he thinks, stuck at the end of the world with Joseph fucking Seed.

“I’m fine” he says, curt and brusque but he can’t quite hide the irritation in his voice and face, judging by the way Joseph’s questioning look doesn’t change. He’d like to blame it on the months and months spend together in the bunker but even at the beginning, Joseph had been uncannily good at reading his emotions.

“Have we run out of coffee?” His thoughts maybe too, but Rook so far has refused to entertain the notion that there might actually be something beyond Joseph’s sermons of pure madness. Actually-happening-apocalypse or not.

“I thought there’d be some more in the other cupboards but it was only several boxes of this,” Rook says, raising the packages he had found.

Joseph walks over to him, taking one of the boxes from his hand.

“Hot chocolate,” he reads out loud. “Why would he keep this?”

“Beats me,” Rook says with a shrug. They are not going to starve anytime soon in the bunker but the types of food Dutch kept outside of the usual prepper stashes of beans and bottled water were erratic and sometimes downright bizarre.

“Least it’s not another whole chicken in a can?” Joseph says and Rook snorts. That one had turned out even worse than he’d thought when they had first opened the can. Between Joseph and him, they mostly managed to not burn their daily rations of beans and sausages but turning the slimly yet still weirdly dry tasting chicken into something edible had been beyond them.

“Why couldn’t it at least be tea,” Rook mumbles. “I don’t like hot chocolate.” Not that he did have it all that often, even as a child. His family growing up had not been one for even those small indulgences.

“I can make you some,” Joseph says suddenly. “I’m sure you’ll like my version.”

A few months ago Rook would have laughed and just left Joseph standing there. But it’s been a long few months - and weeks and days and hours and seconds and he’d have gone mad even quicker if he had continued counting them – and he is kind of bored.

“Try me,” he therefore just says instead and sits down at the table. Joseph smiles at him, just a bit too soft, a bit too indulgent for Rook to want to think about too closely, and turns towards the oven.

There is a seemingly endless amount of canned milk and Rook doubts they’ll go through all of it even if they never get to leave the bunker again, so he says nothing when Joseph reaches for one of the cans.

Joseph busies himself at the oven and soon it starts smelling like chocolate in the small room. It’s not too bad all things considered and Rook is glad about it cause with the filtration system, it will likely smell like this for a few more days.

He stares at Joseph’s back, mercifully covered by a shirt for once, and tries to ignore the weird domesticity of the scene. They eat together, they divide chores and sometimes Joseph gets him to listen to his little one-man church services.

This isn’t really all that different. Or so he tries to tell himself.

“I couldn’t add all of the spices I usually would have,” Joseph says once he is done and turns around with two steaming cups, sounding almost apologetic. “Limited resources.”

“And here I thought you were just too lazy to quickly pop by Walmart,” Rook deadpans and the corner of Joseph’s mouth twitches. Rook has started to consider the involuntary smiles he manages to pull out of Joseph victories though what type of victories exactly, he isn’t even sure.

“Well, cheers,” Rook says and lifts the cup up to his mouth. It’s hot, almost burning his tongue and it’s still too damn sweet. He can taste a bit of cinnamon underneath though and it’s less overpowering sugary than the last time he had hot chocolate. Awful but almost acceptable, as many things in the bunker are.

“I don’t like it,” he says though because he doesn’t. Really not and he is fully aware of Joseph’s eyes on him as he raises the cup and takes another sip to remind himself of it.

“Keep trying,” Joseph says, voice soft but eyes fixed on him, as he raises his own cup. “You might grow to like it after some time.”

For a moment Rook can almost taste something bitter underneath the sweet chocolate. And for a moment, he almost enjoys the taste.


	10. You Make Me A Sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph, Rook and sin. In the bunker. No extra tags needed for this one.

They were the only two humans alive in the bunker. Hell, for all Rook knew, they might be the only two human beings alive in all of goddamn Montana. There should be little sin left between just the two of them. Joseph found it anyway. 

“Sloth,” Joseph reprimanded on those days Rook didn’t bother leaving his bed.

“Gluttony,” when he chugged down his daily ration of water instantly. “Envy,” when Rook looked at Joseph’s ration afterwards.

“Greed,” if he caught Rook staring at the metal bunker ceiling above them, vaguely wondering if there was still a sun shining somewhere out there.

It was hypocrisy. If Rook longing for the world outside the bunker was greed, what were those times Joseph spent weeping for his family? And how much difference was Rook staying in bed, unwilling to motivate himself to face a world that no longer existed, to Joseph locking himself away in the small room he used as his church for days on end.

Until Rook dragged him out to feed him and force him to sleep because as much as Joseph was the reason they were alone in this bunker in the first place, Rook doubted he’d make it long without him.

Still, sometimes it seemed equally hard to live with him. Especially if Joseph didn’t shut up about his sins soon.

“Pride,” Joseph only answered when Rook told him so one day.

“Not more than you,” Rook said, nodding towards Joseph’s body. He was wearing a shirt today but at this point Rook had become more than familiar with the battlefield of scars and tattoos that was Joseph’s skin. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how that one isn’t struck out.”

“I never claimed to be free of sin myself,” Joseph pointed out, that infuriating serene and gentle tone in his voice.

“And yet you are so quick to see my sins and not your own,” Rook countered.

He hadn’t expected his words to really have any effect but something in Joseph’s eyes wavered.

“There is plenty sin in me,” he said softly.

“We are in the middle of a bunker at the end of the world,” Rook said. “How much sin can there be left for you to commit?”

But, Rock thought, Joseph would find something, and if it was only in the fact that he was still human with human needs.

To his surprise though Joseph reached for him instead of an answer. His hand came to rest atop on Rook’s chest, right above the scarred word of wrath. Rook’s physical reminder of the sin John had seen in him.

Very softly Joseph stroke over the scar and Rook held still, staring at his hand, transfixed by the touch. It had been some time. Enough that he’d sometimes catch himself looking at Joseph and _wanting_. Even more than usual.

Lust, the thought shot through him and he hoped that some sins not even Joseph would be able to find in him. 

“There is plenty sin in me,” Joseph interrupted his train of thought. His voice was hoarse and Rook forced himself to look up, into his eyes.

Joseph’s gaze almost burned him with its intensity. Rook swallowed because Joseph hadn’t looked at him like that since the first day in the bunker, since the time he had told Rook that he should kill him for having taken his family away from him.

Wrath and wasn’t it fitting that Rook would be the one to bring it out of Joseph?

The hand wandered higher and for a moment Rook wondered if Joseph would try to strangle him. And then he wondered how he’d react if he did.

But the hand turned around and instead of going for his throat it went higher slowly stroking over his cheek.

“You make me find sin inside myself every time I look at you,” Joseph whispered and his eyes were still fire, still burning Rook.

But it was a different fire now and Rook realized that maybe there were some sins, Joseph and he shared.

“Then,” Rook said and his own voice echoed the broken roughness of Joseph’s. “Let me see your sin.”

Joseph’s eyes flickered in the light of the bunker but Rook was already leaning closer to him until their mouths were touching. A soft exhale and then Joseph kissed him back, his hand still softly stroking his cheek.

And maybe between the two of them, Rook thought, there actually was some sin left to commit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcomed! :)


	11. Five Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five drabbles, no archive warnings apply.

He carries the words with him, a secret on his skin.

They run down his rips, making it easy to hide them. He had done so all his life, having grown exasperated over time with the raised eyebrows the words had caused when seen. 

At least, he had always thought, he’d know immediately. It had been comfort, the fact that his soulmate would not be lost to him.

_God will not let you take me._

It’s not comfort anymore. Joseph had burnt himself onto Rook’s skin and soul, the way he’d burn Hope County. 

And Rook couldn’t stop his fire.

***

There is calm in the Bliss. Rock wanders it like a dream, allows himself to get lost in it.

Dangerous and a waste of time, he knows. But there are no bullets or crazy cult leaders here. Most of the time.  
Joseph always smiles when he meets him in the Bliss. He has ceased looking surprised and Rook appreciates that. His drug-induced hallucinations shouldn’t be surprised by him.

They should lie down instead, their skin soft and warm under Rook’s hands and just let him rest.

He questions not whether it’s the Bliss or Joseph he is finding calm in. 

***

It gets cold and then it gets colder. Nuclear winter, Rook thinks. Montana in December, Joseph says. 

Rook is surprised to see that he’s actually capable of wearing a shirt for more than ten minutes. But neither three layers of clothes nor the thin blankets can keep out the cold at night. Not if you’re alone. It’s necessity in the end, Rook tells himself. 

Joseph is warm and Rook hasn’t felt warm for so long. And burrowed in Joseph’s arms as a hand softly strokes through his hair, the morning and the shame he’ll feel is far enough away yet. 

***

Wanting to touch Rook this way is sin. Yet Joseph yearns for it. He had thought -hoped- to have risen at least partly above these mortal temptations. 

But there is Rook, staring at Joseph when he speaks, and Joseph can see he doesn’t believe. 

But Rook keeps listening. Seems to gravitate towards Joseph whenever they meet. As they are led towards each other again and again. 

Joseph dreams of him and the Voice stays silent about this sin. 

And it’s sin, isn’t? Has to be. Because aching to touch like Joseph does whenever he sees Rook, can’t be anything else. 

***

Joseph preaches and Rook does not listen. He preaches of the sky, the sun and so many things that used to be truths and now were lies. He preaches until his voice is rough and the words refuse to come. 

Breaking apart, the way they world had done around them.

Rook should leave him to crumble. To the lies from his mouth and the truth in his head.

“Come,” he says instead, reaches for Joseph.

There is silence as they lie together in bed. Soon Joseph will preach again and Rook will not listen. But for now, there is silence.


	12. Every Breath You Take I'll Be Watching You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Thoughts of murder (though none is commited) and dub-con undertones. Set in the bunker again (*insert shocked pikachu face here*).

It would be easy, Rook thinks. It would be so easy.

Dutch had locked away his guns and he hadn’t managed to find the key but he wouldn’t need them. The kitchen knife, sharp and promising, a pipe torn from the wall.

It would be enough. It would be easy.

Or just him, just his hands around Joseph’s throat. Until he begs maybe, starts crying, starts repenting.

Apologizes. For what, Rook then thinks. For the bombs? 

He thinks of Dutch, of his lifeless eyes staring blankly at nothing. Of Whitehorse and Joey and Staci. Gone, all of them.

Is it Joseph’s fault? Sitting silently on his bed, staring at Joseph’s body hidden underneath a blanket on the bed across, he wants it to be Joseph’s fault. Dutch certainly is. His blood on Joseph’s hands and he feels his anger grow further as he keeps staring at Joseph.

The rest of them though...

Abruptly he stands up. His thoughts are a maze he keeps losing himself in these days. But then what else is there to do in the bunker but to think? To think of Joseph underneath him, his struggle futile, growing weaker and weaker until it stops, until he stops…

He is almost out of the door but his steps falter. Would he feel better, he wonders. Can he even feel better?

Without even realizing it, he is walking back towards Joseph’s bed. Stares down at him, sleeping peacefully or as peacefully as one could afford to at the end of the world.

His fault. If not for the bombs than at least for everything before. Staci begging on the chair, Hudson crying in the video, the Marshal’s mind lost in the Bliss…

Eli, Virgil and so many others. Dead and here was Joseph, still alive, still breathing. And it would be so easy…

His hands are around Joseph’s throat before he even notices it himself. Joseph wakes as he presses down and there is grim satisfaction, a deep and dark furor, at the flash of panic he sees in his eyes.

It disappears though almost instantly. Underneath him Joseph’s body yields.

“This is not the salvation you are looking for,” he whispers. And Rook hates him, he hates him so much, hates how soft his voice is, how calm and understanding.

“This is not salvation,” he growls out, hands tightening. “This is punishment.” A soft chuckle coming from Joseph and how is there still enough air left for him to do so, Rook wonders.

Joseph reaches out with one hand, softly tries to touch his cheek and Rook flinches away, suddenly panicked at the thought of Joseph touching him like this.

“The time for punishment is over. It’s time to forgive,” Joseph says gently. Lowers his hand away from Rook’s face, softly touches his wrist. Not trying to remove his hands from his throat. Rook could knock them away, could continue choking Joseph until he couldn’t move anymore. Until it was over.

It would be so easy.

His grip on Joseph’s throat eases. Underneath him Joseph takes a deep ragged breath and Rook stares at his throat transfixed. There’d be bruises, he thinks.

Good, he thinks. He makes a move to stand up, to get away from Joseph but now Joseph suddenly tightens the grip on his wrist, holds him back.

The anger boils over and with a snarl he rips Joseph’s hand away, pinning his hands on the bed beneath them.

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses, voice almost shaking with anger.

“Okay,” Joseph says, so fucking calm, so fucking understanding as Rook pins him down on his bed, traps him under his body. “I won’t.”

Rook wants to strangle him again. To hurt him somehow, even if it was just for a bit. Reach into Joseph and twist that calmness into something, anything, else.

It’s easy to lean down. There are a few seconds where their lips just touch, too brief for Joseph to react before Rook turns the kiss into a bite, vicious and brutal. A soft exhale of breath against his mouth and he suddenly realizes how warm Joseph’s body feels under his own.

He pulls away abruptly and there is the taste of blood in his mouth. Joseph’s blood, and his lips are red when Rook stares down at him. 

Joseph looks back up and for the first time since Rook had met him, for the first time since the bunker, he looks unsure. Surprised.

Good, Rook thinks fiercely. Good. He lets go of Joseph’s wrists, stands up from the bed and walks to the door. He should just leave now, he thinks. Shouldn’t look back. Go to the kitchen and try to not think of his hands around Joseph’s throat. Or his lips pressed against Joseph’s.

But still he does, twist his head back to him. Joseph has sat up in the bed. His fingers touching his lower lip. Wiping way the blood, Rook thinks.

Or maybe remembering the kiss. He frowns and suddenly feels like it wasn’t just Joseph surprised and unsure about what had just happened.

But those are thoughts again he will not lose himself to and so he resolutely turns around and marches towards the kitchen.

All while trying not to remember just how easy it had been to lean down. How easy it would be to do again.

It would be easy, Rook doesn’t think. It would be so easy.


End file.
